


Safe and sound

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Clueless Flirting, Concussions, Developing Relationship, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nausea, Pre-Relationship, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Finally, once all of the potion was in him, his vision cleared, and he could see the way Hawke was kneeling beside him, practically holding him up.  Something about the way he was looking at him made Anders’ cheeks feel hot and prickling, and he coughed, cleared his throat, looked away.  ”What happened?” he managed, then was horrified by how rasping it sounded.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and sound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt meme on tumblr. Set during Act 1 of Dragon Age II.

"Maker’s breath, Varric, get out of the way!"  The voice is hoarse and rough, and it’s the first thing Anders hears.  The second is his own breath rasping in his throat, and the splitting, blinding throb in his skull.  Ow.  What happened?  He remembered something about … they were on the Wounded Coast, Hawke had gotten the idea to look for something, then they’d run into a group of … had it been bandits?  All the fights blurred together sometimes … but his head hurt, and it was hard to open his eyes.

Somehow he managed it anyway, only to groan as the world swam around him.  The back of his head hurt so badly he thought he might be sick.  He pushed himself up to one elbow, woozily, sand and sky and something greenish that might be scrub brush spinning wildly around him, and abruptly rolled over on his side and did vomit, throat burning as he retched miserably.   _Concussion,_  he thought dazedly.  Andraste’s knickers.  It was so hard to heal yourself with a concussion.

"I’m feeling lucky right now that you rolled the other way and that didn’t end up in my lap, Blondie," Varric said.  His voice came from very close by, and Anders realized he was—kneeling?—on his other side.  His hand landed on Anders’ shoulder, all the same.

A second later there were different hands on his shoulders, shoving Varric’s away, strong, callused hands, skipping over him, back, shoulders, patting his cheek.  ”Anders,” and it was Hawke’s voice.  ”Anders, are you all right?”

“‘m fine,” he groaned, but when he tried to get his feet under him, he lurched forward, pain sparking all over, and his hands flailed forward; he probably would have ended up on his nose if Hawke hadn’t been there.  As it was, he found himself with his hands clutching tightly around the straps of the leathers Hawke was wearing.

"Well, that seems like just a bit of an exaggeration," Hawke said, and while he was trying for his usually wry, ironically humorous tone, there was—there couldn’t be, though, that much worry underneath it.  Why would he be that worried about—"Do you have another potion, Varric?"

"Right here, Hawke," Varric said.  Anders blinked, still trying to clear his vision, but it remained stubbornly swirling and bright, and then Hawke shifted, and one hand went around to brace the back of Anders’ neck, firm but surprisingly gentle, for all that.  He groaned and swore when Hawke’s hand brushed what had to be the lump on the back of his head.  The Wounded Coast, he thought, then, dizzily.  Literally.  Haha.

"Flames," Hawke said, a ground out curse, and then the lip of the potion was at Anders’ lips, he could smell the elfroot and embrium in it and almost gagged.  "Can you drink this?" Hawke asked, and his voice was suddenly a million times softer, almost coaxing.  "We’ll get a few poultices on you as soon as we get back to town, never fear."

Anders felt like telling him that as soon as he had this potion in him, he could heal himself just fine, but that seemed difficult after he opened his mouth to do it, and he couldn’t think of the words, exactly.  Hawke took the opportunity to tip the potion into his mouth, anyway, and then he was swallowing.  He could hear talking above him—sounded like Varric and Aveline—but his attention was mostly taken up, partly by feeling the potion start to work as he drank it, swallow by swallow, partly by the way Hawke’s thumb was rubbing very gentle circles at the nape of his neck, just beneath his ear.  That was … strange.  What would he be doing that for?

Finally, once all of the potion was in him, his vision cleared, and he could see the way Hawke was kneeling beside him, practically holding him up.  Something about the way he was looking at him made Anders’ cheeks feel hot and prickling, and he coughed, cleared his throat, looked away.  ”What happened?” he managed, then was horrified by how rasping it sounded.

"Someone bashed you over the back of the head, then ran you through, Blondie," Varric said.  "Then Hawke lost his mind, utterly destroyed the guy—it was a thing of beauty, to be honest, pure lethality, that one’s going in the next story I tell about you, Hawke—"

"It was only a move I’ve done a thousand times, Varric," Hawke interjected.  He was still kneeling there, his hands on Anders, and looking at him with that … that  _softness_  in his eyes, when Anders looked back at him.  He swallowed and looked away again.

"Come on, Hawke, you’re usually nowhere near that violent," Varric said, "and don’t interrupt in the middle of the story.  Anyway, Hawke eviscerated the guy—he’s over there if you’re curious—and we got three potions down you before you woke up and lost your lunch.  Luckily Aveline was around to take care of the rest of the bandits while Hawke was ignoring them."

"Hey," Hawke said mildly, "I wasn’t ignoring anyone."

"I beg to differ," Aveline said.  "You’re welcome, by the way."

"And I am always grateful, my goddess of war," Hawke said, and Aveline made the typically disgusted noise she made in response to Hawke’s over the top flirting.

"Stow it," she said.

Anders couldn’t help but smile at that—Hawke was so ridiculous, and it was so—endearing—and called up his magic, concentrating on the cool liquid rush of healing until he felt it flow into him, seeking out the wound in his belly—they were right, he could feel that it had been bad before the potions, now that he was concentrating on it—and soothing away the swelling in his brain.  The nausea faded with it, but he was surprised how dizzy and weak he felt when he opened his eyes again.  He sagged forward, thinking to rest his head on his knees, but instead he found himself caught up against Hawke’s leather-covered chest.  That was—different?

Ugh, Andraste’s shapely arse, he felt wretched.  And then Hawke’s leather-gloved hand came up and brushed lightly through his hair, and he forgot all about that.

Varric chuckled.  ”I swear, I can’t believe you, Hawke,” he said.  ”The two of you.”

"Hey," Anders said, dazedly, a little offended.  "What’s that supposed to mean?  I was just bleeding my life out on the sand, apparently.  A little sympathy would be nice."

"I think you’re going to get all the sympathy you need," Aveline said, and Varric snickered.

"And you claim I’m the barbarian," Hawke said, then put his hands on Anders’ shoulders.  "Are you sure you’re going to be all right?" he asked, sharp dark eyes peering into Anders’.

Suddenly Anders seemed to have lost the ability to think clearly.  Of course he was, he should have said, he’d fought darkspawn and Fade demons in Kitten—Black—Marsh, this was nothing.  ”Uh, fine,” he said blankly, instead.

"Are you certain?" Hawke said.  "Do you need any help getting back to your clinic?  Do you need another potion?"

"Just … fine?" Anders said uncertainly.

"I can’t take it anymore," Varric said, apparently into the ether.  When Anders looked over at him, he was casting his eyes up toward the heavens.  Anders scowled at him.

"I said I’m  _fine_ ,” he said.

"I know you are, Blondie," Varric said, chuckling, and stepped toward him, resting one heavy hand on the top of his head and ruffling his hair.  He was just barely taller, with Anders slumped on his knees like this. "I’m glad you’re all right."

"So am I," Hawke said, and it was so heartfelt that Anders felt something in his chest twist, pleasant and warm, and found himself smiling, for some reason.


End file.
